


The Moon And The Stars Are Nothing Without You

by Moriartied



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry/Louis is a side pairing, M/M, Post-Zayn One Direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4855862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartied/pseuds/Moriartied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Liam shows up in LA during 1Ds break. He and Zayn have danced around each other's feelings for a long time and decided that they wouldn't ever get involved because they were in a band together. Well they're not anymore and Liam tired of waiting for what he's wanted, so he goes to LA to get back what's always been his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon And The Stars Are Nothing Without You

Zayn bought a house.

Zayn bought a house in LA.

For some reason this feels like a big deal, even though Harry and Louis have both had multiple homes in California for years. It feels like this, six months later, is what finally makes it real that Zayn is gone.

It’s been hard on all of them. Zayn was a huge part of their lives for nearly five years. Still is, of course, because it’s not like he’s died. He just… isn’t there. He isn’t smoking on balconies with Louis. Isn’t dancing around wardrobe backstage with Niall. Isn’t lounging on couches talking about art galleries and philosophical poetry with Harry.

And he isn’t crawling into Liam’s bed at night, silently wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in his chest, his body slowly relaxing and breathing evening out as Liam rubs soft circles over his back, murmuring reassurances into his hair.

It had never gone farther than that, though they’d both admitted to themselves long ago that there was something there. Some connection between them that they didn’t share with the other boys. Something that maybe could have been something real if only the circumstances were different. It wasn’t right, they’d decided. They couldn’t do that to the band. Not after they’d seen what it had done to Louis and Harry, who were barely allowed to be in the same room as each other at this point.

They weren’t like the other two. Theirs wasn’t the love story of the century, life altering, world changing, potentially the best thing to happen to the universe since its creation. No, their love story was just for them. It was soft touches, kind words, wiped away tears. It was hiding behind tattoos and leather jackets. It was being each other’s rocks, safe harbors. And that would never change, no matter what physical distances grew between them.

They have a ten day break before the UK leg of the tour. For the first time Liam can remember, he doesn’t have a single obligation. They play their final North American show in Boston, and then he’s on a plane with Louis, six hours direct to LAX. Harry’s coming the next day, and Louis is skyping him the entire flight, which is, well, nothing new. Liam on the other hand likes to use flights as a break from everything. A few hours where he’s completely unreachable. Off the grid, away from his responsibilities, away from the stress of his job. He orders a glass of wine, sips it slowly as he watches the landscape of this foreign country float past outside the windows. Not so foreign anymore, he thinks. He’s spent more time in America in the last five years than anywhere else. He’ll never be able to call it home though. He notices that Harry slips up sometimes, talking about going home to Malibu, like he has no connection to London anymore. Maybe for Harry it’s true. That LA is the only place he can truly be himself, free from expectations, able to disappear for weeks at a time, to be with the love of his life in pure domestic bliss.

Liam doesn’t really have that anywhere. Certainly not his flat in London. Not his parents home, which comes with an entirely different set of expectations. And definitely not his place in Florida with Sophia.

His fingers tighten their grip on the plastic stem of his wine glass as he thinks about her. He loves her, he does. He thinks he could be content to live the rest of his life with her and their dogs if he had to. A family, for all appearances sake. It’s never been romantic, but it is something. Companionship, at the very least.

Louis glances over at him, eyebrows raised in concern, and Liam just shakes his head, letting Louis go back to his call, which is really just him and Harry smiling at each other, as Harry slowly drifts off to sleep in the hotel bed back in New York.

The flight seems agonizingly slow, and Liam is restless by the time they start making their descent. The only positive thing is that no paps were called for him, and he’ll be able to slip out he side entrance directly into the car that will take him to his destination. He says goodbye to Louis at baggage claim, wishes him luck with his own scheduled pap walk, and assures him he’ll be over for FIFA sometime in the next week. And then he’s in the car, the driver taking an unfamiliar route, winding up and down the hills of LA until pulling into the driveway of a single story modern looking home, boxy, all white stucco, with large panel windows and a pool in the side yard. It’s dark out, being nearly four in the morning local time, but there are lights on and Liam smiles, a warmth growing low in his belly.

He thanks his driver and grabs his duffel from the seat next to him, walking up to the house. The door is unlocked, and he pushes it open as quietly as he can. He drops his bag near the door and slips off his shoes, padding through the wide open foyer to the living room. It’s empty and he frowns, unsure where to look next in the unfamiliar layout. One archway leads to the kitchen, also empty, and another to a long hallway. He can hear the soft sounds of a baseline coming from one of the rooms off the hall, and walks in that direction, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt as he does, a sudden nervousness filling him. He takes a deep breath at the door and pushes it open.

The sight he sees before him makes his chest clench with emotion. The warmth inside him grows, lump rising in his throat and eyes prickling. Zayn is curled up on the floor next to the far wall, a couple pillows piled up underneath him, surrounded by cans of spray paint, one of which is knocked over and spilling electric blue into the upturned palm of his hand. The wall is almost filled, with just a few white patches that Zayn hasn’t gotten to yet. Liam wonders what will go there as he takes in the art the other boy has already created.

Sam Smith plays softly in the background as Liam’s eyes flick over the mural, smiling softly as he sees a replica of his feather tattoo, complete with the lyrics underneath. He sees representations of all the boys, scattered amongst an overarching theme of what appears to be a Phoenix, a bird painted in bright orange and red, with a tail of flames swirling across the wall, circling smaller images, some clear symbols Liam recognizes right away, others more abstract, and Liam wonders if Zayn will explain them to him.

He takes a few steps closer and drops down to a crouch, reaching out to gently nudge Zayn’s shoulder. The smaller boy blinks awake, tensing at first until he becomes aware of his surroundings, and then the tightness ebbs from his muscles, his face softening as he pushes himself up to look at Liam.

“You’re here,” he whispers, voice husky from sleep. His eyes are wide, making him look so innocent and small as Liam reaches out to cup his cheek, thumb running along his sharp cheekbone.

“I’m here,” he responds, voice equally rough, filled with emotion.

And then Zayn is throwing himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Liam, burying his face in the crook of his neck as he lets go, clinging tightly as his slender body shakes with sobs.

“M-missed you,” he says, voice trembling and muffled by the fabric of Liam’s shirt. Liam turns and pressed his lips to the crown of Zayn’s head, kissing where his hair is just starting to grow back from when he shaved it all off. It’s soft, and bleached almost white, so different from what Liam is used to, but he still smells the same, still uses the same herbal scented shampoo, which mixes with cigarette smoke and Zayn’s own muskiness to create a scent that is purely and uniquely Zayn. Liam doesn’t want to be cliche, but if someone asked what his favorite smell was, what made him feel safe, loved, belonging, this would be it.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” Liam says, hugging Zayn even closer. The boy has paint flecks all over him, and the splatters that haven’t dried yet are transferring to Liam as they cling to each other, but he doesn’t care. He sits back, pulling Zayn into his lap and just cuddling him for what seems like hours, their bodies quickly becoming reacquainted with each other, fitting each other’s forms perfectly, like they’ve never even been apart.

Zayn picks his head up, nudging his nose against Liam’s cheek.

“You smell like plane,” he mumbles, scrunching his nose in displeasure. Liam lets out a laugh, deep and rumbling, from the bottom of his belly. “And you must be exhausted,” Zayn continues, frowning.

Liam shrugs. “Slept a little on the plane,” he says. “Could use a nice warm shower though.”

Zayn nods. “Of course. Come on, let me show you around the house.”

He’s only lived there a few days, but he’s already clearly left his mark, familiar items filling the rooms that he points out to Liam as they make their way to the master suite. It’s a king sized bed, made up with the black and grey duvet from Zayn’s place in London, that’s been used to the ideal level of softness, which Liam knows from having spent countless nights wrapped in it, pressing soft kisses to the back of Zayn’s neck as they spoon around each other.

“Shower’s that way,” Zayn gestures to the door off the master. “I need one too, with all this mess,” he waves his hands at the paint drops all up his arms and chest.

Liam bites his lip at that, staring at Zayn for a minute.

“What?” the shorter boy asks, not annoyed, just curious.

Liam sighs. “Nothing.” Then he reconsiders. It’s now or never, really. Well, not never, but he could keep putting this off indefinitely. This feels like a turning point though, and if he passes this up, he fears he might miss his chance. He swallows and runs a hand through his hair.

“Come with me?” he asks, the tremble in his voice matching Zayn’s from earlier.

He’s afraid Zayn will shake his head, will give Liam that sad look of regret he always does and say he can’t. But this time, Zayn’s eyes go soft, and a smile tugs hesitantly at his lips.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

—

Liam thinks that maybe home doesn’t have to be a place. Home can be the smell of cigarettes and fresh paint. Can be the feeling of fingers in his hair. The sound of his name being whimpered over and over as those fingers grip tighter and hips buck forward. It can be the taste on his tongue, salty sweet, and the pressure of tile against his knees, hot water streaming down his back. Home can be the way Zayn slumps against the wall, pulling Liam up by his shoulders, kissing him hard and furious like he never wants to let go. Home can be laying wrapped in Zayn’s bed, warm skin on skin, lips on lips, fingers intertwined. Home can be the whisper of “Mine,” met in return with a smile and a breath, “Yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Sam Smith song "Lay Me Down".
> 
> __
> 
> Can I lay by your side?  
> Next to you, you  
> And make sure you're alright  
> I'll take care of you  
> I don't want to be here if I can't be with you tonight
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://lightlytoastedlarrie.tumblr.com).


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